


Make me feel

by maevesdarling



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Caretaking, Dorks in Love, First Kiss, First Time, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, Getting Together, Love Confessions, M/M, Minor Character Death, Self Confidence Issues, Sick Character, Sickfic, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 14:07:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17225468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maevesdarling/pseuds/maevesdarling
Summary: AU in which it's Albert who finds Arthur on the streets of Saint Denis and brings him to the doctor. Afterwards they talk and maybe Arthur finally realises why he keeps coming back to save his dorky photographer friend from getting eaten by wild animals.





	Make me feel

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fix it fic. Tuberculosis don't interact.

When Arthur said his goodbyes to Albert Mason on that cliff near Valentine a few months ago, he thought it would be the last time he'd see the photographer. They had met a couple of times before, and Albert had managed to get himself nearly killed in almost all of these occasions. Maybe that's why Arthur thought the stubborn man had finally given up, packed his bags and moved back to New York or Chicago or somewhere else far away from any wild animals, outlaws and that sorts.

And maybe that's why it's such a surprise to him when he breaks down in the streets of Saint Denis, he slips from his horse and falls hard into the dirty street, his ears ring, he's sweating and coughing till his lungs burn and he feels like he's slowly suffocating and he's kneeling in the mud next to his horse that the figure suddenly giving him a hand is that of Albert Mason.

"Oh my! Mister Morgan! You don't look so good." Yeah, no shit, Arthur wants to say but another coughing fit makes his eyes water and vision blurr. "I think you should see a doctor immediately." He grabs Arthur's arm and pulls him up and that's when Arthur blacks out. The last thing he sees is Albert's kind, bearded face before his vision turns black and the ringing in his ears that has been bothering him vanishes.

He comes to himself on his horse, his head is slumbed against Albert's front, the man was trying to ride while simultaneously holding him upwards. "M fine. Leave me-" He stops to cough. "Leave me alone." Albert startles, the arm that's holding Arthur in place tightens for a second. "Jesus, Mister Morgan, you scared me. I'm sorry I really can't leave you like this. Please, let me get you to a doctor." He's lucky that Carrie is such a gentle horse, Arthur thinks as his hands stroke over the horses cream colored fur. He can't really do much in his position. The soft swinging of the horse makes him nauseous and his lungs are still burning so he just closes his eyes and hopes for the best.

Luckily the doctors office isn't too far. Albert hitches Carrie at the front of the door. Literally in front of it. Arthur wants to tell him that he needs to hitch her somewhere else, that people will get angry but he can't get enough air into his lungs to talk. So he just leaves her be. "I can- Can walk on my own y' know?" He slurrs as Albert half carries and half drags him up the stairs and into the office. "Help! Please my friend collapse on the road, he's having trouble to breath." Albert says to the woman at the desk who instantly shoves them into the next room. It's bright, Arthur thinks, clenching his eyes shut. Someone speaks but he can't understand a word. His head slumps forward and he's out again.

The next time he wakes up, it's dark. He's lying on a bed, a scratchy wool blanket is drapped over him. Arthur coughs, his lungs sting, but not as bad as they used to. He rubs a hand over his face, feeling how sweaty his forehead is. "Oh! Your awake!" A voice says from somewhere to his side. Arthur turns his head slowly. Albert is standing in an unfamiliar doorframe, holding a tablet with a glass of water and some plain bread in his hands.

The photographer is beaming at him and hastily grabs a chair that he pulls up in front of Arthur. "Mister Morgan, you gave me quite a fright yesterday."

Arthur rasps. "Y- yesterday? How long has I been-"

"Oh don't worry. You were only out for about a day. The doctor said you had a high fever, gave you some medication and then I took you to my apartment." The outlaw tried to take in all the informations. So he wasn't dying. That was at least something.

"Fever huh?"

"Yes a really nasty one. Doctor said you were lucky I found you otherwise you could have died." Despite the fact that he was tired and still having somewhat of a temperature Arthur couldn't help but notice Albert's hands fidgeting with the blanket. Was the photographer worried because of him?

"My horse?" The photographer waved him off. "In a stable close by, I gave the owner some extra money and now she's probably treated like the queen of Sheba." Arthur couldn't help but smile at the thought.

"I- Thank you, Albert." He says softly. The photographer waves him off. "You would have done the same thing." Arthur thinks about all the times he saw people die in front of him and did nothing, he tries to imagine Albert in their place, but he can't.

"Maybe." He simply says and takes the glass of water off the tablet. His hands are shaking a bit, water dribbles down his hand and onto the blanket. "Here let me." Albert offers and takes the glass from his hands, raising it to Arthur's mouth. He takes a few big gulps, feeling the scratching in his throat ebbing. The outlaw can't help but stare directly into the photographers eyes, so full of warmth and innocence and Arthur wonder when was the last time someone had looked at him like this. Like he was a human being and not just a wanted killer. Eliza had seen it, but she was dead now, dead and buried and long forgotten. Hosea also did, but he was dead as well and Dutch, but Dutch had stopped seeing the person in him long ago. Now all he saw was a person who'd kill anyone he'd asked him to. Even Albert? Arthur wonders. Would he kill Albert if Dutch asked him to? A few months ago he'd probably done so without batting an eye. But now? Now he wasn't so sure.

"Mister Morgan?"

"Please, it's Arthur." 

"A- Arthur." Albert repeats softly. "Is everything alright? You don't look so we'll." He wants to tell him of what's going on. Of all the heists that had gone wrong in the last few months, of Dutch's slow decend into madness, how his life was falling apart. But he can't do it, can't see the innocence and the light in Albert's eyes fade and be replaced with horror. So Arthur just shakes his head and mutteres something about feeling sick.

"Oh no. Maybe some more medicine will help." Albert says more to himself and gets up from the chair. On his way out of the room he stumbles over a bunch of books that had been scattered around the floor. Arthur couldn't help but smile. Even in his own apartment the man found a way to get himself into trouble. 

There's the faint noise of somebody walking down a flight of stairs, probably Albert getting Arthur his medicine, the outlaw figures. The sun is shining through a small tear in the curtains behind his head, bathing his head in warm sunlight. Arthur closed his eyes and hummed. He hasn't felt this good in weeks, hasn't dared to let his guards down and enjoy some quiet time. But here, in Albert's bed, he lets himself rest as he drifts in and out of sleep. 

He's only napping for a short time before Albert comes back, a bottle in one hand, a stack of photographs in the other. "Arthur, I got you your medicine." He says with a warm smile, shaking the bottle slightly. 

Arthur gives him a lopsided smile. He thinks about taking the bottle from Albert, because it was one thing the photographer helped him drink, but practically hand feeding him? "I can take it from here don't wor-"

"Nonsense, I really don't mind." Albert says lightly and pulls out a spoon. He lets some medicine drip onto the spoon before lowering it towards Arthur's mouth. Again, the outlaw can't help but stare. 

Albert's tongue is poking out slightly, his brows furrowed in concentration not to spill any of the medicine. There's dedication in his eyes that leaves Arthur with a warm feeling he can't quiet place.

"There you go." Albert mutters softly when he's done and puts the spoon and bottle aside. He then picks up the photographs from the nightstand and turns them awkwardly in his hands. "You know… I- I made some copies of the pictures you helped me take and- and I wondered if you'd like to see them." He says hesitantly. Arthur just nods and says "Sure.".

The next hours pass in comfortable silence. Occasionally Albert will laugh over the memory of a particular picture or thank Arthur for helping him. Arthur takes in the pictures. They're amazing. The wolves, dangerous and lifelike as if they're about to jump out of the picture. The horses, captured mid gallop and for a moment he almost hears their hooves thundering over the ground. He hears the hissing of the alligators, smells the dirty swamp water and remembers the panic when he saw Albert standing on that river bank, mindlessly taking pictures of one of the most dangerous animals he knew. Then there where the eagles. He feels the wind on his skin and remembers seeing Albert slip off the cliff. He remembers feeling dread and anger at himself for not grabbing the photographer and happiness when he saw him hanging just a few feet underneath him, hands grabbing a root for dear life. 

Then Albert shows him the last picture and Arthur's breath catches in his throat. It's a picture of himself. He knows he's not a handsome man, his face slightly dirty and there's mud on his hands, but the way Albert took the photo makes him almost look passable. 

"What is- When did you?" Albert blushes instantly and he hurries to put all the photographs away. "That? That was nothing I was merely testing the lenses I-" Arthur grasps his arm, not too harshly. He doesn't want to hurt Albert, he could never. 

But it's enough to startle the man. The photographs slip from between his fingers and spread over the floor. "Oh no! What a mess." Albert hurries to pick them up but stops when he notices Arthur's intense stare. "I'm sorry for taking a picture of you, mister Morgan." He puts the photographs back onto the nightstand and gets up to leave the room. "Stay. Please stay, Albert." Albert's dark eyes found Arthur's piercing blue ones. He just stood there, in the middle of the room, swaying his arms softly. "I- I shouldn't-" Then he takes a step towards the bed. "I'm sorry."

"For what? For making me feel human? For being the first person to show me some kindness?" The photographer seems taken aback. "Albert, you saved me." Albert is now hovering above him, his arms on each side of Arthur's strong shoulders. "I am a fool, Arthur. I can't survive in the outdoors, I can't take any decent photographs and I fell in love with the first outlaw I saw." Arthur's ears perked up. He shoves a hand against Albert's chest, grabbing a fistful of the man's dark green vest. "I'd say we're both fools. But maybe if we stick together we can make some decent decisions and pretend to be clever?" Albert opens his mouth to reply, but before a sound can leave him, Arthur is pressing his lips against the photographers. 

His dark beard is soft, much softer than Arthur expected, and he opens his mouth hungrily to give the outlaw easier access. "We shouldn't-" Albert says in between kisses. "I know." Arthur says, his hands in the middle of unbuttoning Albert's vest. "No, I mean because your sick, and I don't want you to exhaust yourself." Warmth is spreading in Arthur's belly, he lets a hand curl in Albert soft, dark brown hair. "Oh mister Mason, if this is how I die, I won't complain even the slightest bit." He's attacking Albert's throat with hungry kisses until the man turns to putty in his arms. "I think I love you, Arthur Morgan." He whispers against Arthur's ear and he wants to tell him what a bad idea it is to love an outlaw, a wanted man with bounty in at least two states, but all he can manage is a suppressed moan and an "I think I love you too, Albert Mason."


End file.
